


the golden touch

by notahotlibrarian



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, PWP, haute couture can change your life, left turn into pervyville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notahotlibrarian/pseuds/notahotlibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve watches jealously as Darcy carelessly cuddles into Thor’s side, holding her robe closed over her legs.  “Guess what I get to wear tonight?” she says, mischief sparking in her eyes as she tries to contain her excitement.  Before Thor can answer, she blurts out “A cape! My dress has a motherfucking cape on it! How cool is that?”</p><p>(The dress-inspired fic that took a left turn into pornville.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the golden touch

Steve is sitting on the couch with Thor, watching bad afternoon TV, when Darcy comes bounding in, wearing nothing more than a complicated updo and a silk bathrobe. “Ohmygosh Thor guess what?!” she says excitedly from the doorway.

“What is it, Lady Darcy?” Thor asks politely, turning his attention away from Judge Judy. Steve tries not to stare at the way Darcy’s robe shifts as she walks – no, wiggles – her way around the couch to sit next to Thor.

“Hey Steve-O,” she says absentmindedly, her nails scratching against the base of his neck in passing. Steve has to resist the urge to stretch like a cat into her touch. Instead, he focuses his attention on the golden leaves styled into her hair.

He watches jealously as she carelessly cuddles into Thor’s side, holding her robe closed over her legs. “Guess what I get to wear tonight?” she says, mischief sparking in her eyes as she tries to contain her excitement. Before Thor can answer, she blurts out “A cape! My dress has a motherfucking cape on it! How cool is that?”

“I thought capes were…out?” Steve says cautiously, remembering the children’s movie Darcy had made them all watch a few weeks ago.

Darcy giggles and nudges him with her foot. He stares, entranced by the delicately crisscrossing straps of her high heel, while he hears “But I’m not a superhero, silly! So it’s okay if I wear a cape. Plus it’s not a real cape. It’s about half a cape.”

“Uh huh,” he nods stupidly as she flexes her calf muscle, having followed Steve’s gaze to her leg. “Yeah I gotta break these babies in before tonight,” she says before standing again. “And I gotta tell Clint about my cape. He’ll be totes jelly. See ya laters, bitchcakes!”

“Um…Darcy? Are you sure you want to go wandering around the Tower in your underwear?” Steve asks, equal parts fascinated and horrified.

She flashes him a cheeky grin over her shoulder. “What makes you think I have underwear on?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him before she sashays out the door.

*

*

*

Steve spends the rest of the afternoon in the gym, trying to pound his (sexual) frustration out on the punching bags. He’s been attracted to Darcy for some time – really, since that first day when she came blazing into the Tower, all enthusiasm and mischief and LOUD. She has a way of treating the team like regular people, and is one of the few who probably even realized that Captain America and Steve Rogers aren’t always the same. 

She is the queen of casual touches. It isn’t unusual to see her and Barton arm in arm, whispering as they plot their next prank. She always has a hand on an arm or shoulder when she talks to any of them, even Bruce and Natasha, and she and Tony poke each other back and forth until it eventually erupts in either a tickling match until one of them shrieks for mercy or things being thrown. On one memorable occasion, she had held Steve’s hand and skipped down the hallway. Steve remembers his hand sweating like mad as she led them on a merry search for missing monkey wrench. (They finally found it underneath the bathroom sink in the communal area.)

Each casual touch sets Steve’s skin on fire. He could remember – and had possibly sketched – every casual encounter the two had exchanged since she moved in six months ago. (That sketchbook he kept hidden in the back of a drawer in his suite, never to see the light of day.) 

But lately, he notices that while she was still rather touchy with everyone else, she starts to pull away from him. There aren’t as many hugs as before or any linking of arms as they walked in a group. He wonders what he might’ve done wrong as he lands a bruising blow on the punching bag, knocking it off the hook and splitting the seams.

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS politely interrupts. “It would be wise for you to begin getting ready for this night’s function.”

“Thank you JARVIS,” Steve politely replies as he scoops up the broken punching bag and heads towards his rooms.

*

*

*

Steve catches a ride with Tony, Clint and Natasha to the gala they’re attending. It is silver and gold themed, and the invitation had stated a matching dress code. Natasha looks stunning in a deep silver gown, reminiscent of the sirens Steve saw on the movie screen growing up. Clint and Steve both keep it simple in black tuxes, Clint with a silver bowtie to match Natasha’s dress and Steve with a golden cummerbund that makes him fidget with how ostentatious it is. Tony outshines them all, though, in a golden suit with a black button down underneath. 

They party is already in swing when they enter. Quickly, Steve spots Thor, golden hair shining over the crowd as he laughs boisterously at something in front of him. As Steve weaves through the crowd, he sees Darcy making extravagant gestures with her left arm in order to make her so-called cape move, which is making Thor laugh. 

Dr. Foster waves at him, and Steve waves back, a grin tugging at his lips at the sight of the tiny astrophysicist trying to be seen over all the people. Thor and Darcy turn to look in the direction Dr. Foster is waving as he finally makes it through the throng of people. “Where are the rest of our comrades?” Thor booms over the chitchat around them.

“I think Barton and Natasha went to find the bar and Stark went to find Pepper,” Steve explains after glancing behind him and noticing the lack of Avengers. “And I though Banner was with you…”

“He’s talking to that hottie scientist over there,” Darcy says, gesturing to the vague area behind Thor. “She was pretty cute,” she adds with a knowing wag of her eyebrows.

“I believe her name is Dr. Rappacini,” Dr. Foster corrects. Darcy rolls her eyes as she snags two flutes of champagne of a passing waiter. “Here ya go, Cap. To our mutual shiny-ness!” she says, raising her glass in a toast. The four clink glasses, and as Steve is taking a sip Darcy turns to face him and he swallows wrong, bubbles going up his nose.

Her dress is…her dress should be…words fail to express the thoughts Steve has when he sees the totality of Darcy’s evening gown. From the side, it looked like any other ball gown he’d seen her in – gold fabric clinging against her generous curves. But from the front? 

It should be illegal.

Steve’s heart momentarily stops and then restarts in triple-time at Darcy’s dress. Sheer fabric covered with elaborate golden flourishes cascades from high on her right hip down to her ankle revealing more than it covers. Matching fabric struggles to contain her generous breast with its curlicue design and….he should not be within touching distance of her. It takes all his willpower not to reach out and trace the swirls, starting at her knee and working his way up her creamy thigh to her full hips, and then across her ribcage to another swath of sheer….

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts (and maybe to get the blood to return from the southerly direction it is currently heading) and sees Darcy giving him a knowing smile over the rim of her champagne glass. “Like my cape?” she asks innocently. 

He glances around nervously. Somehow, Dr. Foster and Thor have disappeared, leaving him alone with Darcy and her dangerous curves. Fumbling, he nods as he gulps down some more champagne. “It’s very…shiny,” he finishes lamely. 

Darcy opens her mouth to say more when Tony and Pepper join their little group. “Well, Lewis, you look like a heart attack waiting to happen,” he says, giving Darcy a kiss on the cheek. 

Pepper mimics his gesture, and then Darcy gives Tony a roguish smile. “Is that your way of saying you’re too old to keep up with me in the sack, Stark?”

Tony sputters for a moment and then recovers. “I don’t think Pepper shares,” he retorts, winking at Darcy as he wraps an arm around Pepper’s waist.

“I would for what’s underneath that dress,” Pepper murmurs naughtily. Darcy gives a sultry laugh while Tony stares back and forth between the women, obviously stunned. Steve can feel the blush creeping up his neck, but Pepper’s comment only increases his curiosity and lust.

“Well then,” Tony huffs, unwinding his arm from around Pepper’s waist. “Capsicle, how ‘bout I introduce you to the wonders of Goldschlager while we leave these golden ladies to get better acquainted?”

Steve watches from over his shoulder as Darcy holds hands with Pepper and the two women set out to conquer the ballroom.

*

*

*

Steve will admit it. He is hiding. Some obviously drunk woman in a scrap of silver fabric masquerading as a dress had cornered him at the bar, and Tony had gleefully left him to his misery. Citing a need to go to the bathroom, Steve finally makes his escape some time later and all but sprints out of the ballroom. He leans against the wall and starts to count to fifty, in order to give the woman time to get distracted and wander away.

He has his eyes closed and is simply focusing on counting when he feels a gentle touch against his arm. He opens one eye to see Darcy standing before him, dress glimmering in the half-light. Closing his eye once more, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his now-raging libido. Reopening them, he greets her. “Hello Darcy.”

“Hello Steve,” she echoes, a whisper of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Are you hiding?”

“I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat,” he replies, one eyebrow quirking. 

Darcy giggles and leans against the wall next to him, keeping a measured bit of distance between them and her hands behind her back. “Don’t worry,” she mock-whispers. “I won’t tell.”

Her less-covered side is opposite of him, and Steve is grateful for the lack of distraction…but part of him wants to revel in that distraction, to soak up every golden wink and smile and touch Darcy throws his way.

The silence stretches, and Darcy becomes the one to break it. “You’re going to have to go back eventually, you know,” she says quietly, humor coloring her voice.

Steve mumbles a swear word under his breath, and out of the corner of his eye he can see the corner of Darcy’s lush mouth tilting up in a smirk.

Some inner demon in the back of his mind (it sounds terribly like Bucky) is prodding him to wipe that smirk off her face, to make her give him an excuse to not go back. Before he can think it through, Steve pushes off the wall and stands in front of her, effectively blocking her in. “What if I don’t want to?”

She looks up at him through veiled lashes. “Then don’t,” she answers, giving a slight shrug.

A question starts to burn at the back of his mind, and Steve knows that this may be his only chance to ask it. “Why don’t you touch me?” he asks bluntly.

One of her eyebrows quirks up. “How would you like me to touch you, Captain?” she asks, her voice a sultry murmur he has to lean in to hear.

A rapid-fire blush spreads across his cheeks. “Not-not like that,” he stammers, suddenly embarrassed. “I just…I just mean…You don’t hug me or link arms or anything like with me like you do with everyone else.”

Darcy shakes her head. “Because you don’t touch me back,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “You flinch a little every time I touch you. I feel like you don’t want me to.”

Steve leans forward to whisper in her ear as he rests his hands against the wall, caging her in. “I want you to touch me,” he says raggedly. “And I most definitely want to touch you.”

Darcy pushes her hips off the wall, angling her body so it lies parallel under his. “Then do it,” she says, challenge sparking in her bright blue eyes. Cautiously, Steve reaches out and traces the whorl on her hip. He watches as she bites her lip as his finger traces down her hip and across the top of her thigh.

She shifts under his touch, and Steve backs away from what she so obviously wants him to do, instead tracing his path back up to her hip, to where sheer turns into opaque and into the wicked curve of her waist. 

“You have,” he whispers to her, fingers wrapping around her waist, 

“more curves,” his thumb comes up to brush against the underside of her breast, where opaque fabric gives way to sheer once more, 

“than a scenic highway,” as his other hand comes off the wall to glide under her silly little cape and to her back,

“and they are,” he whispers roughly as he continues down to palm her ass,

“twice as dangerous,” he murmurs into her neck as he traces the swirl of embroidery over her nipple.

She gives a breathy sigh as her hands come out from behind her and glide down Steve’s back, nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his jacket. She finds the hem and slides her hands underneath as Steve finally, finally captures her mouth with his.

She tastes like cinnamon and champagne and heaven but she feels like bedroom secrets and delicious, golden sin. He takes a step forward, erasing any space between their bodies as he wraps both hands around her curvaceous backside. With a gasp of excitement, Darcy lifts one leg and wraps it around his waist, locking him into her embrace with golden swirls. Steve runs a hand down her leg, the thread of the embroidery scraping against his palms. He reaches her calf, where the tops of those maddening shoes from earlier are tied.

“Steve, oh, Steve,” Darcy whispers, breaking the kiss and trying to separate them even as she pushes him closer with her leg. “We should probably not be doing this here,” she says with a rueful grin.

He shifts against her, his erection rubbing against the inside of her thigh. “Give me one good reason why not,” he growls, golden lust pooling in his veins as she unwinds herself from him and slides down his body.

Darcy pulls him down to whisper in his ear. “Because,” she says, tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, “then you won’t see what is underneath this dress,” she answers, her breath hot in his ear. 

She ducks from underneath his arms. “Come on,” she says, pulling on his hand and Steve tries to adjust himself. “I know the back way out,” she says with a wicked grin.

They reach the stairwell door and Darcy stops suddenly, rubbing her backside against his barely hidden erection. Steve groans in her ear and nibbles and the back of her neck, a wayward curl tickling her face. Giggling, she checks the stairwell for any other people. “All clear,” she smirks, mischief glinting in her eyes.

Steve follows her as she carefully starts down the stairs, trying not to trip over the hem of her dress in her dangerously tall heels. Another Bucky-sounding idea pops into his head, and before she can react he has jogged around her down the stairs, turned around, and thrown her over his shoulder. 

“Steve!” she gasps out, breathless, as he takes the stairs three at a time. By the time he has reached the next floor down, she has his shirt untucked and is dragging her nails across the top of his ass. He flinches momentarily before a wicked grin crosses his face. He gives Darcy a quick slap on the ass, and she squeaks as she wriggles against his shoulder.

They reach the first floor, and Steve gently sets her on the floor. Wrinkling her nose at him, she adjusts her dress and tries to contain her bountiful breasts from spilling over the top. “Here,” he says, wrapping his tux jacket around her. She wraps her hands around the lapels and stretches up to give him a quick kiss. “You look thoroughly debauched already,” she says, grinning as she opens the door.

He follows her out, one hand resting against the small of her back. “It’s all your fault,” he leans down to whisper in her ear as he raises an arm to hail a taxi. 

“Damn right it is,” she says, nodding proudly as a taxi slides up to the curve. He laughs loudly, openly, as she slides in. “Come on, soldier boy,” she says, patting the cracked vinyl next to her. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a Polyvore set on my Tumblr if you're curious as to what Darcy is wearing. (My user name is the same there as it is here.) And the dress is Zuhair Murad.
> 
> Also: there will be more, I promise. I just hit a wall, so I posted this hoping some comment(s) might spark some more inspiration. *hint hint wink wink*


End file.
